The Monster in Limbo
by bea.tricks
Summary: A mass grave is discovered near Albuquerque and the squint squad is assigned the case. One set of remains triggers confusion just as a pair of strangers arrive with their own investigation. They'll find that dust isn't be the only thing being stirred up.
1. Chapter 1

The afternoon sun had the medico-legal lab's skylight glowing while figures worked on the platform below. The regular team maneuvered awkwardly around the interns and extra exam tables that had been brought in. Slowly, bones began crystallizing into human shapes, like some grim jigsaw puzzle. Only one figure remained still, hovering.

"Seriously, Bones, you've gotta eat something." Booth twirled his floaty pen and tapped on a stack of papers he carried. "We're gonna be drowning in government officials soon and you won't have a chance to take a break til judgement day."

"That's ridiculous, Booth. And I had cereal this morning." Brennan strode to the center table on the platform, carrying a piece of bone with her, and began sorting through another pile. "I really don't understand why you are always so concerned with my eating habits."

"Because you ate cornflakes two thousand miles away, hopped on a flight after a ninety-hour recovery under the hot New Mexico sun, and followed the remains straight up onto this platform." A pen click punctuated his sentence.

"I don't see what distance has to do with my breakfast." She spoke slowly, distracted.

"Come on, Bones. You've got the whole cast in on this one. Half an hour at the diner won't set you back."

"That," she raised another piece of bone in front of her face, "is not what I'm concerned about." Focusing steadily, she fit the second piece of bone like a puzzle piece in with the one she'd carried with her. "Dr. Edison?" she called out.

The pen in Booth's hand began clicking steadily.

"Yes, Dr. Brennan." Clark made his way from the table he'd been hunched over. Scattered about the platform, the rest of the interns ceased their conversations, keeping one eye on the pair while they continued their work.

Click-ck. Click-ck. Click-ck.

Brennan shot a look at Booth, who rolled his eyes and deposited the pen back in his pocket.

"What do you make of this?" she asked, passing the pair of fragments to the young anthropologist.

"15 minutes, Bones." Forcible inhale, exhale. "You can have tabouleh..."

She ignored him and looked to Clark for his interpretation of what she'd presented him.

"It appears to be a piece of a human skull, but not like anything I've ever seen before." He turned it around, placed it under magnification and furrowed his brow at the screen. "Are these... canine markers?"

Brennan nodded. "That was my impression as well." Stepping to the edge, she searched with her eyes for a moment before calling out. By the time the loud echo had died out, Dr. Saroyan had assured her that she would call for a zoologist, patiently reminded her of the institution's telephone system, and ordered dinner to be brought in.

Before her partner could speak, Brennan said firmly, "See? There you go, Booth. We're getting dinner here."

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about before. You know, with Sweets..."

"I'm really quite busy right now. I don't think there's anything to discuss, but if you must, we can talk later. This is important, Booth."

Lips tightened, the papers flapped to the side of his leg. "Fine then. Call me when you've got something." As he left, he desperately wished he could slam the glass doors of the medico-legal lab in his wake rather than letting them glide indifferently shut.

Angela sidled up to Brennan as she worked. "A little snippy, sweetie?"

"I'm not snippy, I'm just too busy to have Booth trying to force pie on me." She tilted her head. "He's been cranky lately, too."

"Well, you seem to understand him better than the rest of us. So what's going on in that head of his?"

"I'm not certain. Perhaps he is sexually frustrated. He mentioned in a meeting with Sweets that it's 'been a while,' which i assume means that he hasn't had any sexual release in some time."

"Is that what he meant about the thing with Sweets?"

"No."

"Dr. Brennan, excuse me," Clark spoke up. "Is this strictly necessary? I doubt that Agent Booth's sexual exploits, or lack thereof, are pertinent to the investigation."

The scientist straightened her back. "Of course. We can discuss this later, Ange. I did assure Clark a more professional workplace."

Eyeing her friend suspiciously, Angela shifted to the other foot. "Mmhmm. We're not done," she stated and left for her office.

--

Several hours later, a dozen nearly-completed skeletons lay on a dozen tables and the team had mostly scattered, attending to business elsewhere in the lab. Brennan had just sent the last of a long line of emissaries on his way with what she suspected was the very last of her patience, when two strangers in suits walked into the lab. One was tall and lanky with shaggy dark hair, the other was sturdier, with short blond spikes and what struck Brennan as very symmetrical features.

"Homeland Security, Health Affairs," said the taller of the two men. Both pulled out badges and held them for inspection. "I'm Agent Sam Vincent, this is my partner Agent Dean Neil."

"What the..." Brennan bit back a retort and forced her voice to a strained calm. "What can we do for you?"

"We're here about the Albuquerque remains," replied Dean. "Any ideas yet about what happened to those poor bastards?"


	2. Chapter 2

_sorry for the delay in the second chapter. as i know a number of my readers aren't up to date on supernatural (which is something they really should get on, dammit), a note: bobby singer is a fellow hunter, older and wiser, a father figure to sam and dean, and someone on whom they often call for help._

_my previous statement about this fic not having spoilers is going out the window, but i plan to keep them to a relative minimum. as it is, this fic is set in the timeline somewhere after the first episode of season 4 (for both shows)._

_this chapter contains a mild spoiler for supernatural, episode 312, "jus in bello."_

* * *

Dean's pupils dilated. She was tall and vibrant and _really_ pissed. Shifting in his slacks, he willed his libido to calm.

"I have been dealing with more agencies than I can count today, all interrupting me to ask what I've found. I'll tell you what I told them: I won't be able to find _anything_ unless you let me do my job," she growled.

"Of course, I understand," Sam said. "We'll let you get back to work."

She muttered something inaudible before swiping a security card and stalking up the stairs to where the bones were laid out.

"Oh, don't mind her," a smooth voice said from behind them. "She's been in a mood lately." The brothers turned to see another stunning woman - with dark, luscious locks, part asian from the looks of it - advancing on them. "Angela Montenegro," she slid close to Sam and took his hand.

Sam worked to engage his vocal cords, "I'm Sam... Vincent."

"Pleasure to meet you," she purred. A clatter came from their left, and a short man with curly hair dropped to recover its contents.

_That's the look of a woman on the prowl,_ Dean thought with a smile. _Good. Maybe he'll get laid and get out of this funk he's been in._

"This is my partner, Agent Dean..." Sam stuttered off.

"Neil," Dean completed. "Homeland Security."

She flashed her eyebrows and smiled. "Oh good. I'm a big fan of _being_ _safe._"

_Wow, she doesn't mess around, does she?_ Dean thought.

"It'll be a little while before Dr. Brennan has anything for you," she said as she looked at Sam's chest and then back up to his face. She still hadn't released his arm. "But I do have some preliminary sketches of a couple of our victims if you'd like to see."

"Oh, he would _love_ to see," Dean smacked his brother hard on the back, "wouldn't you Sam? He's an art nut."

Sam gave his brother a murderous look.

Angela led them to a terminal near the side of the platform and pulled up two drawings, one of a man in his mid-forties with high cheekbones, and the other a fair-featured young woman. "I usually wait for Bren to add tissue markers before I start, but you kind of get a feel for the medium when you do this for as long as I have." She opened a database and began typing. "There are so many victims here, I gave it a shot with the skulls that are still intact. Running these images against missing persons reports now."

Sam smiled at her and they excused themselves, retreating several yards before whispering.

"Dean, how do we know this is our kind of job, exactly? This could be a serial killer's mass grave. You know? A terrible thing, but not our business."

"What? You wanna bail before they even have time to check for something weird?"

"We're in _Washington D.C._, Dean."

"Oh!" he bobbed his head and replied, as though surprised. "No shit? Wow. I wonder if we can see Georgie's wooden teeth..."

"Have you forgotten that we're wanted in multiple states?"

"Come on, Sammy. Don't you read the news? We're dead. They won't be out looking for a couple stiffs," he smiled and nodded at an attractive passing intern.

"I still don't like it."

"Of course you don't. Look," he leaned in and spoke more seriously, "Bobby thinks that this mass grave might be something his pal didn't finish back in the day, so we're checking it out. You've gotta admit, if this did have to do with his friend, these bones are definitely a little less charcoal than a hunter would usually leave them."

Sam looked back at his brother, sulky, and nodded his agreement.

"Good. Now you go back over there and pick up what that girl's puttin down. Cuz you really," Dean looked down at the floor as he turned and flashed his brows, "_really_ could use the release."

--

"I've got hits," Angela said loudly enough to reach both the brothers and Dr. Brennan on the edge of the platform. "Ashley Wilson and Jonas Englewood, both of Albuquerque, New Mexico, reported missing in July, 1977."

"Just from your preliminary sketches, right?" Brennan asked, looking down over the railing. "We'll need to verify."

The artist sent the missing persons reports to the computer near Brennan and offered, "Jonas Englewood fractured his jaw in his twenties. Any sign of that?"

"Yes," she muttered while staring at the data on her screen and comparing it to her measurements. "Alright. I'm confident that this man is our John Doe 0963. Good work, Ange." Somewhat placated by the progress, she was more calm when she spoke to Sam and Dean. "There you go. One confirmed ID. Should give you something to start with."

Sam shifted on his feet and turned to leave, fingers already dialing Bobby. "I'll go call it in."

The anthropologist stepped away from the monitor, extended her arms in front and behind herself. She rolled her head, letting her long, elegant neck loll. Dean took the opportunity and stepped close to the platform.

"You're Dr. Temperance Brennan, aren't you?" She righted her head and looked at him pointedly. Dean quickly continued, "I recognize you from the Albuquerque Journal article." When he'd read the news story online a couple days ago, his eyebrows had hit the ceiling, particularly when he saw the accompanying photo. There was no question that it was the same Dr. Brennan, her face livid and contorted, an angry finger pointing away from the dig site. He could practically hear her cursing at the reporters, suggesting physiologically impossible places for them to store their equipment.

From the way that Angela winced, he guessed that she'd seen the same photo.

"Damn reporters," Brennan mumbled under her breath.

"Yeah, I can't stand them. Can't tell you how many investigations they've compromised." Her shoulders, hunched up over the microscope, seemed to relax a bit more. "That picture obviously doesn't do you justice, by the way."

"Thank you." He almost didn't hear it, but he did see the faint smile that ghosted her mouth.

Before long, Dr. Brennan appeared to have fallen comfortably into her routine when a beeping sound announced a new visitor to the platform. A tall, broad shouldered man strode over. "Hey, Bones. What's the good word?"

"What's what good word?"

He sighed and finally looked over the edge at the two of them. Angela had been chatting up Sam, but the brothers now focused their attention on the newcomer. He leaned over and stage-whispered to Brennan, "Who are they?"

"They're from DHS," she replied without looking up from her microscope. "I don't remember their names."

"Agent Sam Vincent, this is my partner Agent Dean Neil."

Reaching down from the platform and shaking their proffered hands, he said, "Special Agent Seeley Booth. I'm Dr. Brennan's partner."

"Pleasure."

"Hey... Vincent and Neil," Booth grinned. "Like the lead singer from Motley Crue. Hell of a coincidence you two getting paired up."

Dean laughed, "Yeah, I was stoked, but Sam's not really a fan." He watched Booth lean with one hand on a table. There was a casual affability about him that Dean instantly liked. "Don't come across many people who catch that."

"I am a classic rock man, what can I say?"

"The Crue, AC/DC," Dean smirked and spread his hands and let his voice drop half an octave, "Zep."

Booth perked up. "You know, there's talk of a reunion tour."

"Man, there's _always_ talk of a reunion tour."

"No, this is more static than usual."

Brennan straightened up and turned in their direction. "Did you want to hear about the victims, or are you just here to mingle?"

Booth shot Dean a knowing grin and spoke to his partner, "What've you got, Bones?"

"Well, so far we have confirmed cause of death on three of the victims, but I'm seeing corresponding injuries on all of them." She rotated and gestured at the table at her side. "Three puncture wounds to the chest, victims bled out. Still working on murder weapon."

Booth looked around. "Cam mentioned that there are 13 sets of remains." From the subtle edge in his voice, Dean had the distinct impression that it wasn't the usual chain of communication.

"Yes."

"Why do I see only twelve?"

She snapped her gloves off and spoke to all of them. "Come with me."

--

They were halfway down the stairs before the thirteenth body came into view, and it was obvious - even through Sam and Dean's untrained eyes - that something was very different.

Brennan spoke as she led them down into Limbo, "The platform was already full and... well, Dr. Saroyan and I decided it was wise to keep this set someplace a little more private."

The remains, laid out, were at most 4 feet long. While much of the skeleton approximated human characteristics, the skull was elongated in such a way that it appeared to have an almost canine muzzle and ridges that ran from the crown down the back of the skull. The spinal bones were laid out in a shallow curve, and each reached away from the body with a vertically flat spike. Dean thought momentarily of stegosaur plates, but those that laid on the table were narrow and relatively short. And very clearly not belonging to a dinosaur of any sort. At the end of each arm, what in a human would have been short distal phalanges were long, arched and pointed at the end.

Sam stared. "Are those... claws? Talons?"

Booth leaned over the table and peered closely at the creature. "Okay, that's really not normal."

"No. It most definitely is not." Brennan stared at the bones as one would a frustrating puzzle. "Cam has an archaeozoologist coming in tomorrow for consultation. Until then, we're focusing on our... more traditional remains," she said tightly.

"When's the last time you let someone else mess with your bones?"

"I think this case calls for a specialist."

"I trust _your_ instincts, Bones. What does _your_ instinct tell you? Genetic anomaly? Freak birth defect? Little green men?"

Brennan looked the remains up and down. "I've never seen anything like this." She reached out a gloved hand and straightened a couple of the bones with a fascinated touch. "I don't know. But it isn't like any human remains I've ever seen, and that's saying something."

Dean pulled his brother out of earshot of the others and looked him in the eye. "Kinda human, kinda not? In with a mass grave of murder victims? Still think this isn't our kind of case?"

Sam pushed a button and slipped his cell phone surreptitiously back into his pocket. "Photo's on it's way to Bobby now."


	3. Chapter 3

_many thinks to SSJL for her excellent advice and for laughing at the appropriate times :) and to lizook12 for spot checking.  
_

--

Dean's silhouette broke the block of natural light streaming in the hotel room's door. Clicking it shut behind him, he sat at a table and pulled a few of the items out of a paper bag. Six of Heineken, bag of Funyuns, single-serving package of mini carrots.

"Alright. Thanks, Bobby," Sam flipped his phone shut.

The older brother retrieved a piece of cardboard from the bag, set it on the table, and hovered over it. "What'd Bobby say?"

"Well he talked to some people and filled in some details of his old story."

Dean looked up and quirked an eyebrow. "The one with a bunch of people going missing and showing up with unexplainable holes in their chests?"

"Yeah. Apparently this part-time hunter named Harry - friend of a friend - goes out to see what's going on, but he just up and vanishes from New Mexico without a word."

Dean picked up a pen and began drawing. "The killings stopped though, right?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "But there was never any report as to what he did there. Hell, no one had any idea what was killing people. No demonic omens, no weird past deaths or signs of hauntings. Apparently a couple hunters went into town to see what happened to the guy, but they didn't find anything suspicious. And it seemed like the trouble was over; no new deaths."

"No need to dig further," Dean guessed.

"For all they knew, it could have been some serial killer and Harry just skipped town when he found it wasn't a hunting job."

"Until someone found a mass grave with a freaky mutant and a dozen victims who were supposed to be planted elsewhere."

"Yeah, the names of those people Angela identified are two of the victims from that period. And, if the rest of the twelve are who we think they are, I think I have a connection."

"Alcoholics Anonymous?" Dean said.

Mouth already open to say the same thing, Sam stuttered. "Well... yeah," he said, surprised.

Dean looked up at him without raising his head. "Hey, you're not the only one with a phone."

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Okay, smartass, what'd _you_ find?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Well, they were last seen in all different locations, but the victims were all members of an AA group that met in a church in the Sandia Foothills. Local PD investigated the group, didn't come up with anything. But more importantly, the receptionist says they've never had any problems with flickering lights, no scratching, no dark smoke lurking in the corners. Dude, she's a Leo."

Sam ignored the last of what he said. "Sandia Foothills. Near the gravesite."

"Very near. And the place is full of rocky hiding places, caves. Nearly anything could have been hiding out there." Dean leaned forward again and picked up his pen. His brow furrowed in concentration. "What about the freaky alien bones? Bobby have any ideas about that?"

"He's hitting the books."

"Well, I don't know what he'll come up with, but _I_ think," he put a final touch on his project and pushed it toward his brother, "it looked something like this."

The Wooly Willy was wearing a gigantic handlebar mustache and a tiny goatee. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Pretty evil looking, huh?" Dean flashed his brows.

"Way to be productive, Dean."

"Hey, Jolly Green, I got you baby carrots," he replied. "And, actually, I _did_ have a thought."

Sam waited an impatient second. "Care to enlighten me?"

Dean stood, tightened his tie, and pulled on his coat. "If this creature had something to do with these people dying, and if this hunter managed to kill it, knowing _what was able_ to kill it might just help identifying it."

"Right, good thinking." Thoughtful and a little impressed.

"And Dr. Brennan likes me."

Sam chuckled at his brother's cheek. "You determined this from... all of the irritated snapping?"

He ignored him and smiled contentedly. "Mmm... she's feisty. She likes me, I can tell."

--

_Max had surely meant well, but his honest appraisal of her social life (or lack thereof) had still stung. Work kept her busy. Well, usually. Their last urgent case had been wrapped up two weeks ago. She neglected that detail in the debate with her father, but paired with his words, it made her feel uneasy. Two options always stood foremost in her mind when she felt like this, caught somewhere between blind anger and panic. The first had invited her to the Founding Fathers for a drink before he knew about her plans with her father. Perhaps he would be there._

_The place was busy when she stepped through the door; she stood on her toes to aid in her search. Perhaps he'd gone somewhere else, she thought after a while, but then she heard his easy laugh, instantly felt relief, and aimed her eyes to the right. Booth was facing away from the door, across the table from an obvious couple and next to - her breath caught - a curvy blonde. Just then, the woman emitted a loud and bubbly laugh and leaned well into his personal space. Brennan was well aware that Booth was very cautious of his 'bubble' and it was never accidental when he allowed someone to breach it. Intimidation, comfort, intimacy. When it came to "his Bones" (she'd torn him a new one when he first used the possessive along with her nickname), he seemed to draw her in until she could feel the heat of his body and smell his aftershave. She'd become accustomed to it, and she thought it meant something. But this bimbo was far too close for comfort._

_Brennan stood still for a moment, fighting the tightening in her chest, then turned on her heel and walked right back out the door. She felt dizzy, and she needed some stability _right now,_ she needed to find her feet again. So she fell back on the second option she'd considered earlier and headed to the lab, straight down into limbo._

_Once there, she slowed her breathing and focused, falling into the comfort of routine. Assemble skeleton, recite each bone silently along the way, examine first visually, handle each one and coax it's secrets. Venture to the microscope on occasion to delve into details. Before long she felt the calming satisfaction of her work. It sought the truth. It was worthwhile._

_It had her at the lab, alone, on a Saturday night._

_This wasn't helping her case against Max's accusation._

_Never mind. She loved her work. Tibula. Fibula. Metatarsal. She moved around the under-lit table, laying each piece of the puzzle in place. Routine. Comfort. Her bones were a constant._

_It was unclear in Brennan's mind how much time had passed before he found her. She didn't notice him approaching until he was nearby, but he stopped at the end of the table, personal bubble intact._

_"What the hell are you doing here, Bones?"_

_"I work here. Have you forgotten?"_

_"It's Saturday night." He looked at his watch. "Correction, Sunday morning."_

_He hadn't taken bubbly blonde home. Had the date gone poorly after she left? Or perhaps it had gone so well that Booth felt it important to take their time. Could be. He was archaic like that._

_"How did you find me?"_

_"It's early Sunday morning and you're not at home."_

_You mean I have no social life, she thought. She didn't reply._

_"Come on, Bones. Let's get out of here. We still have time to get a drink."_

_Was she his consolation prize? The thought made her feel cheap and she focused back on her precious bones. "I'm busy."_

_He teased at her, cajoled, asked what was bothering her._

No, Booth. I just don't want to go. I want to work.

_She didn't waver and he finally left her be, but only after fetching her some coffee at her request. She wanted a jolt, he brought decaf._

_She'd been distant for the two weeks following, logging more hours in the lab each day than she had in two years. The pattern continued until the events following the excavation of a mass grave in Albuquerque._

--

Brennan was surprised at how easy conversation was. When she had finally accepted his invitation to dinner, she'd expected that in order to discuss the case the way he wanted, she'd have to spend at least half the time explaining terminology and procedure. What she hadn't expected was that she'd be dining with a fan of her books. And she certainly hadn't expected that Dean would have gleaned so much about her field from the pages of her fiction.

"So on the twelve sets of 'normal' remains," he summarized, making sure he'd understood her properly, "the wounds to the bone don't seem to have been made by bullets, or knives, or any metallic weapon." She nodded. "And you think that there is foreign organic matter in the wounds, which your bug guy is checking out."

"Yes."

"What about the... other body?"

Brennan bit her lip. "Officially, we're waiting on the archaeozoologist for examination, but I have to admit I was curious. There's blunt force trauma to the ribcage, but I suspect cause of death was penetrating trauma to the sternum."

"Bullet through the heart?"

"That would certainly do it, though I still need to check the track marks for patterning and particulates." She looked at him for a moment. "For a layman, you have a very good understanding of what I do. You haven't taken any courses?"

"All from your books." He seemed atypically bashful when he spoke next, "I just enjoy your writing. It's very honest and quirky." Each word had a slight bounce to it. "And informative when you find yourself at dinner with a professional."

Brennan had read the blurbs on the back cover of her novels, she'd glanced at a 'review' or two aimed at boosting book sales. She had done book signings, heard insincere compliments and exaggerated ones. Dean's didn't sound like any of those. "Thank you. That's one of the nicest reviews I've had." She took a sip of her wine, watching him, and then rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers, "I usually have to write very quickly. Work takes up so much of my time and my publicist isn't exactly patient." Her pasta caught her eye and she stabbed at it, "I've received four testy voicemails just this week."

Dean leaned forward easily. "Mmm... I imagine they push you to put out, what, one a year?"

"About that."

"Opportunistic bastards," he said with a charming smile.

Brennan tipped her head sideways. "Oh, I'm not complaining. I'm well compensated and I enjoy it most of the time. But what about you? Do you enjoy your work?"

Painful memories flickered their way into his pleasant evening. He pushed them back and let out a deep breath. "It's satisfying. I get to help a lot of people. And there's a lot of travel. Often," he said, in a deadpan so dry as to be indiscernible, "we're just living in hotels."

"I didn't realize Homeland Security agents would need to travel so much. Aren't there other offices?"

"There are, but Sam and I tend to handle the more... unusual situations. And that takes us all over the place." _Always on the move, often on the run, staying in one place just long enough to sense that getting to know a particular local might be worthwhile._

"Where's home?"

Home? His mind began searching for a random city he knew enough about to fake it. Boise. El Paso. Little Rock. But "Lawrence, Kansas" was what slipped, raspy, through his lips. "Though soon as this case is done we'll hit the road for another. Haven't been back there in a while." He took a sip of his beer and looked back up to the blue eyes that even in the ambient light struck him with their clarity. What was it about them that made him want to share everything?

There was no questioning it, the man across the table from her was attractive. That relaxed confidence felt so familiar, and the remarkable thing was that it didn't waver as they discussed murder victims. It didn't affect the look in his eye as it did with so many of her dates. Except that this wasn't a date. _Not a date,_ she reminded herself. "You don't get queasy talking about this kind of thing while eating," she observed.

"Not so much. I've seen a lot of things," he paused. "But I really don't think I've ever met someone as passionate about skeletons as you."

"I can discern truth where others can't. I can give people answers, closure."

"I can appreciate that."

"Personally?" she asked, then quickly looked down, grabbing her napkin when Dean hesitated. "I'm sorry, that's not my business."

"My mother was murdered when I was four," he replied quietly, ignoring her apology. Brennan's face melted into sympathy, and she waited for him to continue, or change the subject. Indiscernable thoughts played out on his face. He was surprisingly expressive, even when he wasn't trying to be. "It took a while, and a fair amount of work to find him, but we finally caught up with her killer a couple years back and had some justice. It took over twenty years to get that closure."

"He was convicted? In prison somewhere?"

Dean paused, considering how to proceed. "There was a... confrontation that got pretty heated, and in the end, one of us wasn't going to walk away from it." He spread his arms with a tiny, sardonic smile. "Here I stand before you."

"Actually, you're sitting." They looked at each other for a moment. "I'm sorry."

They ate quietly for a few minutes, pondering deep things, the case pushed to the back of their minds.

Suddenly, without preface, Brennan spoke, "My family abandoned me when I was fifteen, and when I next saw my mother, there was nothing left of her but skeletal remains. She'd been murdered." She was surprised by her own candor, but still didn't feel awkward sharing.

Dean wasn't thrown by the abruptness of her revelation. "Did _you_ find closure?"

"In a way... I mean we caught her murderer, he's dead now, but there's nothing I can do about what I've lost."

"That's the long and short of it." Her mood hung heavy in the air for just a moment before he spoke lightly, "But hey, T, you and I seem to have turned out alright. We function. We're good at what we do. Pretty well balanced."

_Like spending all of your free time in the lab,_ she thought.

_Like having no connections but your family, _he said to himself.

They shared a look and a moment's silence, before shifting the conversation to a light banter that stretched well past the end of their meal.


	4. Chapter 4

_aand, we've gone M, folks. enjoy!_

* * *

The Homeland Security agents had returned and were debating with her team. Brennan looked up from her remains for a moment to sneak a glance to the side of the platform. Normally, she would have shushed them back to work, but they'd called it their coffee break and she'd relented. The topic she hadn't bothered to ascertain, but Hodgins was at the center of the conversation. Some conspiracy or outlandish accusation against the government seemed likely. She wasn't really listening.

Her eyes (when they ventured from her work) focused on Dean. He leaned against a high table in a suit that was tailored nicely around his broad shoulders. His stance was relaxed, but alert. _Like Booth,_ she noted, and like several other FBI agents she had met. Military, that was it. He must have served in the military. Dean mostly just observed the conversation with amusement every time Hodgins got louder. Like the suit, his unguarded smile looked good on him, and she had the distinct impression that it didn't happen nearly as often as it should.

As though he sensed her gaze, he turned his eyes on her. Her first instinct was to look away, hide the fact that she'd been ogling him, but she held it for a moment, unblinking, before smirking and returning to her work. She took measurements to check gender and race on her eighth victim and entered the data into a nearby terminal.

_Sex: Male. Height: 1.85m, 6'1"._ Like Dean. (_And like Booth,_ her brain added.)

_Race: Caucasian, Western European origin._ Like Dean. _(Like Booth.)_

The victim's stature suggested that he'd taken care of himself. He'd had an active life that included several sports, had been lean and strong in life. Like Dean. _(Like Booth.)_

The faces of both men hovered at the edge of her mind's eye while she finished her calculations. Just as she finished her preliminary work on the victim, the conversation pierced her focus.

"Chupacabras are the result of highly classified military breeding experiments gone wrong?" came a low, incredulous voice.

"Now you're getting it, Vince."

Angela spoke up, "Well then, how do you know about them if they're so hush hush?"

Brennan looked down to Hodgins' area where the discussion raged. The entomologist was standing in full conspiracy mode, shoulders squared.

"Just because the government doesn't talk about something doesn't mean it doesn't exist. There have been sightings, captures."

Dean spoke up. "You mean that thing some Texas taxidermist has hanging on his wall? That's a mangy, bastard, inbred coyote. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Look, I'm not supposed to talk about this," Hodgins began.

Angela crossed her arms, leaned back and interjected to Sam, who stood right next to her, "Not that it ever stops him."

Hodgins shot her a look and she returned a fond smile. He continued, "Seriously, my uncle told me about evidence that he'd acquired. I saw his documentation."

Sam followed right behind with a weary sigh. "I don't know what he showed you, but trust us, we've been around, and there is _no_ such thing as a chupacabra."

Brennan turned her eyes again and caught Dean watching her. She smiled. He smiled back and made a sign suggesting a coffee break of her own. The temptation was about to win her over when a beep signaled a new visitor on the platform.

Booth swung his arm between his guest and his partner. "Dr. Joseph Lawrence, meet Dr. Temperance Brennan. Bones, this is your zooarchaeologist."

He'd pronounced correctly. Brennan shot a surprised look at her partner as she stepped forward to shake the visitor's hand.

"I'm not an idiot, Bones. I can learn your terminology when I want to."

Brennan ignored him and spoke with a controlled enthusiasm, "Welcome, Dr. Lawrence. I've read several of your articles. Your research on cranial evolution in chimpanzees was particularly impressive."

The man was tall and lanky, with sharp features, tiny glasses, and short hair that struck a balance between blond and grey. His shoulders were hunched, as though trying to shrink to the height of those around him. "Thank you, Dr. Brennan. I'm a fan of yours as well. I'm very excited to see these mystery remains you've unearthed."

Brennan snapped off her gloves. "I'll take you to them."

Taking a step forward, Booth said, "Fraid Clark will have to show the Doc down to limbo. You and I have a meeting with Sweets in..." he looked at his watch, "fifteen minutes ago."

She scowled. "Have you seen how many sets of remains I have here? I'm far too busy for his banalities."

"You want to lose our profiler?"

Brennan huffed, introduced Dr. Lawrence to Clark Edison, and watched them descend the platform. "Straight back here afterwards. No pie."

--

The clock on the wall of Sweets' office ticked slowly and Booth sat quietly on a couch next to his partner. He could just make out the figure of a man in an office building across the way. The man sat beside his desk, watching passively as a ball bounced off the floor, the wall, and back into his waiting hands. He repeated the motion. Booth thought fleetingly of Steve McQueen and pondered whether solitary confinement would be preferable to this sentence in Sweets' office.

"I'd like to discuss sharing," said the psychologist.

Booth quipped, "You having trouble getting your toys back from the bully next door?"

"Emotional sharing, Agent Booth. Some time ago, you came here to invite me to dinner at your apartment. Dr. Wyatt cooked for us."

"I remember," he replied. Bones continued to sit in her silence.

"In a... very touching effort to convince me to join you, each of you shared an incident from your childhood."

Fireworks snapped deep in his belly and he thrust his shoulders forward. "I _told_ you that there would be _no further discussion of that."_ Booth could sense Bones tighten up beside him, but whether it was a reaction to Sweets or to his own outburst, he didn't know.

"Of course. I had no intention of asking." He too leaned forward, "But I would like to ask you about an observation I made."

Booth sat back in his seat, still apprehensive, and conscious of Bones' lingering tension. "Well, spit it out then."

"Neither of you seemed surprised at the other's secret. Surprised at the sharing, of course, but not at the stories themselves. No shock, no outrage at each others' childhood trauma."

"Yeah, Sweets. We talk to each other on occasion."

"Yes, the trust you have in each other is completely understandable. What I'm curious about is _how much_ you share with each other."

"Hell of a lot more than we feel comfortable sharing with you."

"I mean, those are very personal anecdotes you shared. Are there any topics that are taboo between the two of you?"

Brennan's sudden "Yes" occurred at the same time as Booth's "No."

"What?" he asked, turning to her. A thread of uncertainty was unravelling in his chest. There was something she wasn't comfortable sharing with him? Did it have something to do with the reason she was so upset lately?

Her arms were folded across her chest. "You don't like to talk about your sex life," she said simply.

He rolled his eyes. "Cuz it's _private_, Bones." He tapped a finger against his leg. "What? You really want to know about my favorite sexual positions?"

"Based on your bearing, I'd imagine that you're fairly dominant in the bedroom, but that's not what I meant." She wasn't looking at him. "I don't know why you won't talk about your romantic encounters, about dates that you have. I tell you when I have men in my life."

"Well, you have crappy taste in men. Someone _should_ be informed about what's going on in that arena."

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew it before it came out of his mouth, but this irritation of hers was getting to him. Weeks of poking and prodding had produced no results. He still had no idea what was bothering her, and she seemed to have no desire to tell him.

Her ice blue eyes finally flashed to him, steely and petulant, and he let loose a secret he had been keeping from her. "Fine, Bones, you want to know about my social life? I haven't been on a date in _years_." How could he, when he only had eyes for her? "That make you happy? I can't talk about my _romantic encounters,_" he encased the words in finger quotes, "when I haven't had any."

Booth had expected sympathy from her, or at least a query about why a 'symmetrical alpha male' would have such trouble finding a willing date, but that wasn't what happened. Bones looked at him in disbelief for a moment, then sat back in her seat, sullen, facing forward.

He was flabbergasted. Did she think he was lying? That he had a girlfriend and was too embarrassed about his partner's social skills to introduce them? Did she think he wasn't trying hard enough, upset that she was the only one who could talk about romantic partners?

Did she secretly know about his feelings? Did she want him to get over her and move on?

His intuition had failed him. He didn't like thinking about this last possibility, but he couldn't come up with any reason that made more sense than any of the others. His brain was mired in confusion. Neither of them said much for the remainder of their abbreviated session. The beautiful, brilliant woman he had worked so hard with, for whom he had sacrificed so much, was shutting him out, and Booth didn't know why.

--

"Hi, Dean. Thanks for coming."

"Beautiful woman invites me over for a drink. How can I turn that down?"

"Come inside," she said, holding the door open. Then her mind interpreted the phrase in a _much_ different way.

Brennan was horny. It was undeniable. For a long time, she had simply enjoyed the presence of Booth's well-formed body. She could handle not having sex; she knew how to take care of her own needs, and her friendship with Booth was so fulfilling otherwise. But the last couple of weeks she felt sour just thinking about him. Dean had a fresh face, humor, and sympathy about where she was coming from. She could enjoy his company and appreciate viewing _his_ body without being overwhelmed by complications.

Leading him to the kitchen area, she caught a whiff of his aftershave. Pleasant, potent. Her eyes rolled back. Probably should have used one of her vibrators earlier to release a little of this tension. As it was, she felt a little dangerous. There was an attractive man standing right behind her and he appeared quite capable of relieving this ache.

"Mmm... this is a great place, T. Very classy."

"Thanks, I had the lighted shelves designed especially for this room. I'm very pleased with how they turned out."

Brennan began pouring their drinks while Dean strolled away toward the nearest wall, and Brennan couldn't keep her eyes from trailing down his form. Dean glanced at a few books, letting his fingers drag across the spines, and came to an artifact that caught his attention.

"You have a-" he stopped himself.

"What, a Mayan burial vase?"

"It has a quincunx on it."

Brennan looked up with surprise, then picked up their glasses and moved closer. "You know about hoodoo symbology?"

"Occult artifacts are... let's say a hobby of mine."

Brennan watched how his lower lip expanded against the glass. She took a sip from her sangria and sighed at the warmth flowing through her. It was more than could be explained by just the alcohol, especially that which dipped lower in her body.

The number of items in her home that he was familiar was amazing to him, conversation flowed and their drinks emptied quickly. She led him back to refill them and Dean turned to marvel not at the artifacts, but at how damn appealing she was when she was that enthusiastic.

He'd just turned back around to face her when she attacked him, both hands grasping behind his neck, her lips assailing his. Dean experienced one second of shock before kissing her back, matching her fervency.

She tasted like sweet brandy and smelled so natural that he was struck dumb by the intimacy of it. He suddenly couldn't get enough of her and wound his hands round her back, up into her soft hair, down to caress her curves and cup her hips closer to his. Some small part of him was goggling at the fact that this magnificent woman had unexpectedly launched herself into his arms, but the ruling majority didn't give a damn. That part was more concerned with holding her close enough to demonstrate exactly what her presence was doing to him.

They tore at each others' clothes. He nipped at her lower lip. Brennan's top went flying up, over her arms and head, and the buttons of his dress shirt didn't all survive the experience. Finally, Dean stepped back to kick off his slacks and boxers and stood before her.

Brennan admitted to herself what a superior specimen he was. His form was solid, muscles carved by regular use, his structure suggested excellent maneuverability, his phallus was hard, straight, thick. She was responding to him, growing wet. She needed this. Oh God, did she need this. She let her hormones take over -- stepped to him and pressed the length of her naked body against his.

His breath caught at the feel of her soft skin all along him. "Do you" he kissed her, "wanna take this to the bedroom?"

"No," she growled and pulled him so that he was pressing her against the edge of the counter.

A jolt shot from his head to his hips he was so turned on by her response. Despite his propensity for taking beautiful women to bed with barely a second thought, he suspected that it was worth taking his time with this particular one. She was unique and he would have loved to do it right. If only he had time. He suspected he'd be back on the road within days, hopefully without the law on his tail. Dean was used to simply enjoying what time he had available, but at the moment it smarted.

She groped for her purse and rummaged through it while Dean reached between her legs to dip a finger into the moist heat. He was overwhelmed with a need to taste her. "Ohh," he grunted low, raspy, "God, T."

His touch and his voice caused her center to twitch, and she found herself fumbling uselessly. "Dammit!" Brennan cried. "I swear I had some condoms in here."

"I've got it," Dean retrieved a condom from his coat. He bent over and took one nipple into his mouth almost reverently while he put it on. As he dropped to his knees, he pushed hers apart and let his tongue drag across the damp skin at the apex with a soft moan.

For a few moments, Brennan simply enjoyed the pleasant feeling of his talented mouth suckling down below, but this wasn't what she was truly craving. She wanted oblivion, and she wanted it now. She pulled him back to his feet. "Fuck me, Dean," she demanded. Obediently, he hitched her leg over his hip and entered her, and Brennan let out a soft sigh of relief as she enveloped his hard cock. Each of his slow, sensual thrusts drew a little noise from her throat. He kissed her slowly, but she quickly became frustrated.

Why did she seem to attract men who wanted sweet and gentle sex? Sully had been quick to say he loved her and wanted a deeper connection, David appeared to have been heading in the same direction before it ended, Booth was reportedly keen on making love. But Booth had never been her lover. He'd shown mixed signs of wanting something more before he'd started dating again, before bubbly blonde. No, she didn't want lovemaking now. She wanted to be ravaged. His body was built for unrestrained sex, and that's what she desperately needed. She wanted him to make her scream and come hard. She said so, and Dean whispered his compliance before picking up the pace.

It was a good decision. His full strokes were solid, his tempo quick and heady. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled along with his thrusts, forcing him to deepen his movements. Eyelids sliding closed, she remembered the last time she'd done this, how Mark's endurance had been what finally did it for her. A slow and steady build toward blinding sparks. She'd loved the end result, but she never had much patience for the extended process.

Right now, however, she was not having that problem. Dean's skill was driving her quickly toward orgasm. She grunted loudly in response to a particularly potent thrust. _Yes! God_ did she need this.

When the quake began to take her, she let her torso fall back onto the counter and the surge rose through the cold tile against her skin. By the time her pleasure ebbed, her head was bumping against a jar of pickles. "Come on," Dean urged her back into his arms. Hands gripping her ass, he held her to his hips as he moved them in the direction of the hallway. "No, this way." She slipped from his arms and led him into the living room.

Dean's eyes devoured the length of her bare backside as she walked. Her lean legs and gently curving back met spectacularly. And he was treated to an even nicer view when the woman stopped at the back of her couch and bent over it, looking seductively over her shoulder.

The way his fingertips dimpled the soft skin on her hips as he gripped her spurred him on, and watching himself disappear inside her again and again had him harder than he had been in a long time. Still he could not forget the full breasts, the startling eyes, and that husky voice that he prayed would call his name, and before long, he decided that he just couldn't do without them.

She growled in frustration; she had been crying loudly, close to another peak when he slipped out of her. But Dean paid no attention to her argument, he simply lowered himself onto an armchair, pulled her to straddle him, and held her waist as she immediately restarted the pace. Dean's head fell back of its own volition at her grip around him. "God, T. You are so damn hot."

"I know. Now shut up and fuck me."

Her hips slid expertly up and down the whole length of him and, while he matched her thrusts, he had to stifle himself. As desperately as he'd wanted to see her, he hadn't counted on it all being too much for him. But it was, and with each stroke, it took quite an effort to keep from giving in.

"Yes," she cried, having seemingly found just the right spot. "God, yes, Boo-," she stuttered and then said "b- baby." Once she'd found the word, she chained it to her tongue. "Baby... baby... _oh God_..." Brennan started riding him faster, begging for more, begging to be filled, to achieve that completeness she was so desperate for on nights such as this.

She'd disintegrated into incomprehensible whimpers when her pace began to falter. This was the moment. Dean grasped her hips, pulled her body toward his where he caught a nipple in his mouth, and drove up speedily into her. She screamed. It was so elegant, the way her back arched when she came, the cry wrenched from her lips was sweet and it rushed through him, causing him to finally lose his control. He pulled her tightly to him and released with a loud moan.

Dean cradled her against his chest, where she lay slumped for a long time. "You're very good," she mumbled with a smile.

"Thank you." His fingers were able to discern goosebumps as they traced up and down her back, cupping her ass occasionally.

Dean would have been hard-pressed to remember exactly what they'd talked about then, still laying together in the chair, but words came easily. He was about to suggest they move to the couch, get those drinks she'd talked about before and a blanket. Perhaps he could even convince her to take him into her bed and he could show her more pleasures, but their skin had finally cooled and she shivered.

"Is it already that late?" she asked, looking up at the clock. "Unfortunately, I have an early start tomorrow. You'll understand if i don't see you out to your car."

He paused only a moment before covering his disappointment. "Yeah, no problem."

While he retreated into his clothes, Brennan disappeared down the hallway to fetch herself a robe. The messiness of her hair when she returned, the redness of her lips that he had so recently tasted struck him hard. He knew a dismissal when he heard one, but he didn't want for this to be all they had. He had to try again.

"You up for dinner tomorrow night?"

"I'd like that." She surprised him with a smile as she opened the door.

"Alright then. Guess I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodnight." Brennan leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and left him facing her closed door.

He rubbed his face and blinked rapidly. What the hell had just happened?


	5. Chapter 5

_sorry for the long delay in an update. my muse has been on vacation and just won't answer her damn cell phone. this is a lil interim chapter for your... amusement. :) MAD THANKS to the spectacular shipperatheartrealistbynature for her late night feedback/betaing!!  
_

--

it's dark in the empty lab and i sit at my desk, entering data. the numbers are right, but somehow it just doesn't fit. i can't figure out what is out of place. i check that my fingers are on home row.

before i realize it, soft hands from behind me are touching either side of my neck.

what to do? spin and attack? retreat to a safe distance before facing the stranger? wait for a "guess who?"

i can't help it, i realize, i remain still and stiff until a voice whispers into my ear.

_trust me._

and i can't explain it, but i do.

i trust him enough to let him wrap dark cloth over my eyes, to pull me from my seat and turn us so that i am pressed against his chest where he leans against the desk.

and i trust him enough that i don't object when a second set of hands rest on my arms and draw across to the middle of my chest.

i trust them when they nimbly pull at the buttons of my sensible shirt, and when the One behind assists at removing the garment.

_oh god,_ the chest behind me is bare. it is firm and warm and he smells familiar, smells something-like-but-not-quite-sandalwood. and cherries. the press of his torso against the small of my back is so delicious and so right. i'm certain i couldn't lodge an objection if i tried.

i have to testify next week on the case of the bubbly blonde. mackin on my man goes for five to ten these days, i'm told. but that's next week.

right now it's all confusion and warmth and relief as sandalwood pulls me to him, swallows me in his strong arms.

i'm wet, oh god i'm so wet at the sensations from behind and the hands drifting down my front before me. i reach forward to touch his body, and find that the strong, flat stomach is bare as well. and his hips. and his...

my pussy is suddenly exposed to the air of my office. the freshness tingles my moist skin like mint.

simultaneously fingers touch my core and scratchy face nudges my head into a tilt so that his lips can suck at my skin.

did i order coffee? i can't remember... if i've ever had an experience like this before. despite my sexual openness, i don't think i've ever been intimate with two men at once.

but it's happening now, oh it's happening now and i can't decide if my coffee should have cream.

definitely sugar though.

i'm suddenly aware of a mouth down below, a tongue darting out to_ ...oh sweet fuck... _and there's a new feeling against my back. sandalwood's hips rock so subtly that the movement of his hardness, nestled against my sacral curve, is almost lost. almost.

i moan.

i should be examining the bones, i should be irritated at the new security cameras in limbo, i am frustrated that i can't see the spiky blond hair laboring away at my hips. i wish i could see sandalwood's deep brown eyes locked on mine as little whimpers trail from my lips.

i can hear too many cars outside for 4 o'clock in the morning. i can hear the mutter in my ear... _bones._

i suddenly clamp around dean's fingers and ride.

_booth, i only _ever_ ride in the SUV. can i drive?_

and then dean is inside me and he thrusts tight and fast. i have to hold on, we're going so fast with the sirens wailing and i reach behind my back to hold on, to stroke his length.

now he moans and tells me that i can't drive.

_why not? i'm an excellent driver._

_i don't doubt that, bones._ he grunts rhythmically, in time with my hand and with the plunge of dean's hips.

the siren wails. i wail. rapture is coursing wet down my face.

--

"Bones," Booth said.

Brennan started and sat upright in her desk chair, face flushed.

"You alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess I just drifted off." She rubbed her face with her hands and clenched her thighs tightly together, trying to lock down her arousal.

"Bones, what's wrong?"

Brennan composed herself and remembered her anger. "Nothing. What are you doing here?"

"Since you don't like to call me these days, I thought I'd come over to see if there are any updates on our pile-of-bones."

"It isn't a pile anymore, Booth. We have separated the sets of remains and arranged them as usual." She stood and moved toward the door, not waiting for her partner. "Come on, I'll show you our latest findings."


End file.
